


A Stupid Wedding

by orphan_account



Series: A Stupid Love Story [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: A little spicy, M/M, Part 2 so please read part 1 first, this is gonna be very fluffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27059611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: (Please Read Part 1 First)They’ve been together for almost two years, and Draco would hate to think things are going a little stale. And he is sure they wouldn’t be going stale at all, if Ron and Harry didn’t insist on sleeping in the same room.I have been gone for a bit but I promise I’m coming back soon! (It’s been even longer, things aren’t good. I’m sorry if it’s a very long time).
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Series: A Stupid Love Story [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974904
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	1. Jealousy At Christmas

When Draco awoke, he was cold. The winter son shone through the small windows and sent only light, but no warmth into the room. He shivered gently as he peeled open his eyes, turning his bare back to the window. He reached out a hand, feeling across the small bed he shared with Ron. But the sheets were empty, not even warm anymore. He stated at the space, the light dent in the bed, the hideous orange sheets Ron insisted on keeping, and smiled. He sat up, yawning, gently scratching his nails across his muscled stomach. He’d never been particularly built, and he still wasn’t, but Ron kept him fit. Through Quidditch games, running around after the dog he’d insisted on buying, and several...other ways. Draco smirked at the thought and rolled so his feet set in the hardwood floor. They weren’t at home, they never were in the winter, they were at the Burrow. Only having left Hogwarts a year ago, everyone was still welcomed home to the Burrow as children, 19 year old children that is. Draco didn’t admit it, even to himself, but the place made him feel warm inside. It was his home. There was just one, massive problem with the Burrow. Harry James Potter. 

It wasn’t like they hadn’t gotten over their issues, it wasn’t the odd petty arguments they had because at heart, they were still just bickering children. It wasn’t even how close Ron and Harry were, which had gotten to him a little at first. It was the fact that no matter how old they got, no matter the fact that Granger had moved from Ginny’s room to her own on the top floor, no matter the fact that no one shared rooms anymore (unless they were couples) Harry and Ron insisted on sleeping in the same bedroom.  
Draco stared over the bed he slept in with Ron to the one Harry slept in. He stuck his tongue into his cheek. Both boys were gone, no doubt together some place. And again, the closeness between them didn’t bother him anymore, but the subsequent lack of physical closeness between him and Ron made him grouchy. They got no privacy. He sighed, standing up and pulling on the first shirt he found, luckily, it wasn’t Harry’s, but Ron’s. Long sleeved and a deep red colour, it contrasted Draco’s pale skin dramatically. He yanked some black jeans out of a draw, still moving tiredly, and stumbled out of the room and down the risky staircase. His hair was a mess, he knew that, but he could fix that later. Downstairs he was met by Molly, serving breakfast to a waiting Ginny and Hermione, Charlie sat at the head of the table, looking like he’d already somehow eaten his full, his face was a pale green colour.  
“Mum,” he said, eyeing the bacon being pushed on to Hermione’s plate.  
“I know I know, you’re a vegan.” She sighed, Draco wasn’t sure was vegan meant, but by the plate Charlie was served, he was sure he wasn’t one.  
He walked out of the kitchen, taking the few steps to the living room and sticking his head in. There he found his boyfriend, hair messy from bed, sitting with Harry and his brother George. They were staring very intently at a chess board, and didn’t even notice Draco. Draco snorted lightly, looking at the half decorated Christmas tree in the corner. He assumed everyone else was upstairs still asleep.  
‘Just alike,’ thought Draco, thinking about Angelina upstairs sleeping away while her fiancé was downstairs commentating a chess game.  
Just before Draco could say anything to anyone, there came a knock at the door. The three in the living room looked up puzzled, it was too early for anyone to be visiting really. It seemed that Molly hadn’t heard it, she was having a small row with Charlie over his food. So Draco stepped through the living room and crossed the room to the door. Ron raised a kind eyebrow at the sight of Draco, hair disheveled and wearing Ron’s shirt. Draco just snorted lightly and flipped him off.

Blaise was at the door. He looked excitable.  
“Blaise?” Said Draco, alerting everyone else in the house. As everyone leant towards the door to ear wig, Blaise threw himself through the door, wrapping his arms aggressively around Draco and burying his face in Draco’s shoulder. Draco froze for a moment, but hugged back quickly. Blaise was much stronger than Draco had anticipated though, and they went tumbling through the door. 

Ron sat staring at the heap of red and black of the floor. Blaise seemed to be crying, and now Draco was too, and they were hugging and laughing and falling into random fits of giggles every couple of seconds. When they seemed finally finished with one another, Draco smiled up at Ron from the floor. Ron didn’t think he’d ever seen Draco so un-Slytherin.  
“Ron, Harry-“Draco hiccuped a final laugh as both him and Blaise stood.  
“You know Blaise,” Blaise stuck out a hand towards Ron. Ron didn’t shake it. He’d eyed Blaise up and down, carefully, taking in his delicate but muscles form and his chiselled facial features. Blaise was strikingly beautiful, he always had been. He supposed he hasn’t realised Draco and Blaise were so very, close. Before it could be awkward though, Harry stepped around Ron and shook Blaise’s hand, smiling up at the man that stood quite a few inches above him.  
“Zabini,” said Harry simply.  
“Potter, it’s been a long while,” Blaise replied, turning to Draco after dropping Harry’s hand. “I knew you were staying here from your letters,” Ron thought that Blaise might’ve left out the reason for Draco being at the Burrow on purpose, “and I just had to come see you, don’t worry, I’m not sticking around-“  
“Oh don’t be ridiculous dear,” said Molly, who seemed to have finished up her argument, “come have a drink,” she ordered softly, bustling back to the kitchen. Blaise smiled and Draco knocked his arm lightly.  
“I’ve missed you, spending too much time round Gryffindors gets to a man,”  
Harry and George laughed. Ron did not.  
“Oh I feel you, you know Pansy’s dating a Ravenclaw?”  
“Oh she is? Why didn’t she write-“  
Their conversation trailed away as they left the room, too invested in the conversation with one another to even spare a wave to the boys.  
Harry turned back to the chess game.  
“You’re beating me again, you know this is our third match this week that I’ve lost, you could at least give me the benefit of the- Ron? Ron?”  
But Ron was distracted, staring at Blaise’s black and silver scarf that was left discarded on the floor.  
“I didn’t realise they’d been writing to each other,” said Ron, a gentle line of confusion creasing his forehead.  
George spoke up, “I’m surprised you notice anything at all, you’re hardly ever around him.”  
“That’s not true-“  
“But it kinda of is Ron. I mean, whenever I’m with Ginny, don’t you just sort of hang out with Hermione?”  
“I mean yeah, but I didn’t think that bothered him?”  
“Would it bother you?”  
Ron glanced back to the discarded scarf, pausing for a moment.  
“...Nah.” 

About half an hour later, George went for a walk. Harry and Ron went to to the kitchen, where they found only Hermione, Draco and Blaise. Draco was perched on the edge of Blaise’s chair and Blaise seemed to be making a purposefully comical attempt to push him off. Hermione was attempting to chastise them between giggles.  
“So Draco,” Blaise addressed him once he’d landed back on his own chair with a light thud, “You and Weasley Hm?”  
“And what about it?” Said Ron, overly defensive, setting himself down opposite the two with Harry.  
“Oh nothing, just I hadn’t supposed you could keep Draco on a leash so long.”  
“Huh?” Said Ron at the same time Draco said,  
“Blaise don’t.”  
“Oh he doesn’t know does he?”  
“What don’t I know?”Said Ron edgily, ears beginning to glow red.  
Draco laughed.  
“Nothing Ron, I was just rather, how could you put it-“  
“A slut,” said Blaise, falling into cackles.  
“Blaise!” Draco slapped him upside the head,”It’s not like that,” assured Draco to Ron.  
“After the war, a lot of sketchy young wizards and witches really liked the idea of having a try with A Death Eater.” He snorted, “hardly anything happened with any of them.”  
“Hardly,” Blaise elbowed him, chuckling.  
“Yes hardly Zabini,” Draco sighed, then perked up, smiling at Blaise,”I still have the magazine’s B.”  
Ron was watching the encounter closely, ignoring Harry who had begun chattering to him at his side.  
“You kept those?”  
“I kept everything we made in first year, want to come see?”  
“I wouldn’t miss it, usually, but right now I must be off. It was, amazing to see you Malfoy,” he gazed down at Draco when he stood, letting his typical smirk fall naturally onto his face, Malfoy couldn’t help the slight blush that clouded his face. “If you need anything,” he cast an eye to Ron,”anything at all, just call me.” He winked playfully at Draco. Blaise truly was a playboy.  
“The tea was lovely Mrs Weasley, but don’t tell my Mother I said so, she’ll have my head,” he kissed her hand gently, and Mrs Weasley blushed too. 

Draco smiled at the door, he truly had missed Blaise.  
“He’s great isn’t he?”  
“Mhm.” Draco turned to face Ron, he’d been so distracted he hadn’t noticed the red rash of anger across Ron’s neck and jaw. He raised an eyebrow at him.  
“Just great. Brilliant. Lovely.”  
“Oh Weasley-“  
“Weasley again now am I?”  
“Whoah,” said Harry, eyeing Ron carefully, “Calm down mate.”  
“I am calm. I am calm.”  
Draco laughed, the sound had never pissed Ron off more. Hermione smiled lightly.  
“Are you Jealous Ronald?”  
“Jealous?” His head snapped too her quickly, again becoming defensive. It was hours before anyone spoke about it again. They all came together for dinner in a bundle of extra chairs and “Hey! That’s my drink!” “No it’s not.” “Is too!”  
They left a place for Fred, they always did, though over time they stopped setting it out and simply gave him a chair. Ron was in deep conversation with Ginny and Harry about quidditch. Every once in a while, Draco would attempt to input his thoughts, but he really wasn’t part of the conversation.  
After a while, hun and Hermione began to speak softly.  
“I’m not sure what’s got Ron all riled up.”  
Draco just laughed softly.  
“We all have a history,” she didn’t answer the question in Draco’s face.  
“I suppose we, all, do.”  
“And I’m not suggesting anything g happened between you and Blaise, but if it did, well, I couldn’t blame you.”  
“What’s that?” Said Ginny, pulling herself from the quidditch chat.  
“Hermione was just commenting on how she finds Blaise Zabini incredibly hot.”  
“I did not-“  
“Well you’re not the only one,” Ginny giggled.  
“Brilliant,” Draco laughed with her, “you can all start a fan club.”  
Hermione laughed.  
“Really though. I’m not saying I’d, date him. But I’d rather like a quick glance under his shirt.”  
Harry look appalled, apparently the two of them had begun to listen.  
“Oh please,” sighed Draco, “been there seen that, not that impressive.”  
Ron huffed.  
“We shared a dorm room you nut- I bet you’ve seen Harry shirtless countless times. Besides-“ And Draco took a purposeful pause here, eyeing Ron up and down.  
“I’ve seen better.”  
“Bluergh,” cried George comically, “It seems almost impossible to me that someone finds you attractive. You’re just our little Ronniekins.” George meant over the table and pinched Ron’s cheeks. Ron laughed and shoved him away.  
“Shove off George.”

Later that evening, when Molly and Arthur, Bill and Charlie had gone to bed, and they could hear George and Angelina talking quietly in the kitchen, Ron, Harry, Hermione, Draco and Ginny all sat in the living room.  
“You shouldn’t get angry with him you know,” Said Draco simply, sending his Knight running across the board. “He only flirts to get a ride out of you, he’s a Slytherin. He enjoys it.”  
Ron grumbled.  
Harry laughed at him, sitting on the love seat with Ginny, Ginny’s head placed on his shoulder. Hermione was absorbed in a book, the cover blue and the title, ‘1984.’  
It was popular among muggles apparently, but all the more frustrating for her to read, knowing a lot of the troubles in the book could be easily cured by magic.  
Ron was just about to kick one of Draco’s pawns off the board, when a small, sophisticated looking owl landed on the window pane. And rapped, twice exactly, on the glass. Draco smiled.  
“What now Zabini?”  
He went to the window, ignoring Ron’s sarcastic, “Oh, how lovely.” and let the bird in.  
Except it didn’t come in, it looked around the place, somehow surveying the inside of the burrow very high and mighty, if an owl could do so. It pressed the letter into Draco’s hand, and took off.  
“Even the birds a snob,” grumbled Ron, holding back a small laugh.  
Draco ignored him again, choosing to open the letter. He read it out loud, because there were eight eyes on him and he never gave up a chance to show off, even at his high age, how well read he was.  
“Dear Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy,  
I do hope this letter finds you well, considering I only left your company a few hours ago, it would be an awful shame if it didn’t. It was very nice to find you happy and settled, and to find that you’re still entirely as attractive as you were the last time we met. I’ll be writing again shortly, mail me those magazines will you?  
P.s: That last bit was for your red head, I could see how easily jealous he was,pretty hot if I do say so myself. Write me if you feel like sharing any time soon.”  
Harry sent himself into near hysterics over the last line, and Ginny ended up having to halt his laughter with a punch to the arm.  
Draco perched himself in the gap between Ron’s crossed legs. Holding the letter out in front of him.  
“What do you say? Want me to share you?”  
“Absolutely not,” Ginny began to howl at the horrified look on Ron’s face, and Draco did too, throwing his head back onto Ron’s chest.  
The conversation gently shifted onto the coming Christmas, what everyone was doing for presents, even Hermione wrestled herself from the book she was buried in at one point, hinting that she was having something mailed to Luna.  
“What is it with you two?” Asked Ron inquisitively.  
“What? We’re just good friends.”  
Not even a hint of blush touched Hermione’s face. “Really we are, not all of us lie about that.” She eyed Draco sitting in Ron’s lap. Draco was twiddling his thumbs lightly. He seemed deep in thought and Ron knew how he hated his thoughts to be interrupted, and so he left him too it.  
Later, after he and Ron had drifted upstairs, and were laid on the covers, still fully dressed, Ron commented in Draco’s quietness.  
“Just thinking about the gift I got you.” He said rolling onto one elbow, to face Ron, who had his hands behind his head. Ron blushed.  
“I’ve been thinking about mine too.”  
“You’ve already gotten it? Spill”  
“First of all, since when do you say ‘Spill’, you’re spending too much time around my sister. Second of all, it’s not something that impressive or that expensive.” Ron smiled sheepishly, “I still hope you’ll like it.”  
“Well I’m certain you’ll like yours,” declared Draco.  
“Oh will I?”  
“Have I ever failed you?”  
Ron smiled and leant up to kiss his forehead.  
“Never.”  
Draco smirked, shifting lightly on his elbow, so that his hand buried into his hair. He used his other hand to trace the contours of Ron’s chest beneath his shirt. Letting his nails scrape gently across the bottom of Ron’s stomach, below his naval. Ron shivered. Draco’s smirk turned into a shit-eating grin. Then, just before Ron could lean up and kiss him, Draco rolled over, off of the bed.  
“Too bad we’re sharing with Harry right?”  
Ron growled.  
“Fuck you Malfoy.”  
“Oh I know you want too.”  
Harry, coincidentally, stumbled in a few moments later. And it wasn’t long before the three were passed out.

Christmas came five days later. It wasn’t Draco’s first Christmas at the Burrow, and he was sure it would certainly not be his last. He made sure to wake up before Ron, inching past Harry’s bed carefully, and skipping the steps he knew creaked. When he reached the ground floor, he almost yelled at the sight of Arthur, sitting at the table, sipping his tea.  
“Merry Christmas Draco.”  
“Merry Christmas Mr Weasley, you’re up early?” Said Draco, edging slowly towards the garden.  
“Arthur. You’ve been in and out of this house long enough now to know to call me Arthur dear boy. And yes, I like to get a head start, being stampeded on the stairs isn’t fun.” That, Draco could agree too.  
“Not to seem rude, but I just have to sort Ron’s present,” and with that little explanation, he slipped out the door. 

Once that was sorted, he slipped back upstairs, he’d never gotten presents for anyone at the Burrow in the year before, but he felt it appropriate now. He’d gotten Harry some Broom Polish, and a chocolate frog. It was small, but it felt big considering their past. Even more so for Granger, who he’d spent hours scouting the library floor for. She was the last person he wanted to disappoint. He was entirely great full for her keeping Ron alive all these years. Eventually, he’d settled on buying her the hard back of A Handmaid’s Tale, which he’d gone Muggle London to purchase. For Bill, a leather jacket. For Charlie, a pair of silver earrings, each with a different breed of dragon, swinging around on each end. For Percy, rose gold framed glasses, which he was sure he’d given away by asking Percy what prescription he was. For George, he had tried to be sensitive, buying him something prank like felt wrong, but also in character. Instead, he brought him a small music box, that when opened played George’s favourite songs, and a small wooden figure on a broom would fly out and around the box. For Ginny, he’d had to think hard. At first he’d believed her to have the personality of a black sheet of cardboard, but on closer inspection, he found her to be a mastermind in quidditch and incredibly tack tile with hexes. He brought her a spell book. For Molly, a small silver pendant, and for Arthur, a matching watch. It had all cost him quite the pretty penny of course, but it wasn’t as if he had nothing to spare. Everything was wrapped neatly in sliver paper and boxed, tied with black bows. He carried them all down and past Arthur, sometimes two, or three at a time. On his last trip down, in which he was dressed and showered, hair slicked back into its proper style for once, the table had become a little more crowded. There sat Arthur, Molly behind him making the beginnings of an incredible breakfast feast, and Percy, reading the paper quietly. They all wished him a Merry Christmas as he passed.  
He and Percy shared a comfortable silence in the living room for some minutes, they were the type of characters that could do that. And then, Percy’s tea began to shake. They arrived like a stampede, a mess of freckles and ginger hair, with the odd curl of Angelina’s afro, or spike of Harry’s hair pushing up above the crowd. They spread evenly across the living room, George, Angelina and Percy settled on the couch, Harry, Hermione and Ginny settled on the floor at their feet. Bill, Charlie and Ron had taken it upon themselves to pass presents backwards from the tree.  
There was far more of Draco’s neat, silver wrapping under the tree than anything else, and Ron smiled at Draco, saying in his eyes all that needed to be said. Molly gave Draco a bone crushing hug, after insisting that he return it, that she couldn’t take it really. Draco enjoyed watching everyone enjoy his gifts, which was knew for him. He supposed that a lot of the enjoyment came from impressing them, wether with his gift buying skills or his ability to purchase so much. Draco received his annual jumper of course, which he chose to tie around his waist, and several other small nicknacks. Most notably, Hermione had also gotten him a book, a hardback cover of “White Noise”. Draco just managed to squeeze in a thank you in between Ron and Harry’s aggressive thank you hugs. It took things to settle down for a moment before anyone realised, including Draco and Ron themselves, that neither had yet given the other a gift. Ron cleared his throat.  
“Wait-“ said Draco excitedly, “Me first.”  
——  
Earlier that day-  
Ron had been stressing about this, for months. Because this isn’t the sort of decision you make in a split second. This is the kind of thing you decide very early on, the kind of thing you have to plan. But Ron wasn’t used to planning. He had been tempted, oh so many times, to request Hermione’s help in this, but he just couldn’t reveal the secret. He wanted this gift to shock everyone, but most importantly, Draco. And so he worked in secret, frequently convincing everyone he was out with Harry, or off chatting with Hermione. He was careful in who he spoke too, and only his Father knew what he was really up too. He trusted his Dad not to utter a word. Ron hadn’t been lying when he’d said the gift hadn’t been expensive, he hasn’t paid a penny for it. Which made him feel like a bit of a sell out really, but he was sure what the gift would MEAN for him and Draco would run deeper than any money. That Christmas morning, he was glad Draco was gone when he finally awoke. He threw Harry’s present of tiny stuffed versions of himself at him to wake him up.  
“These things- are creepy,” Harry had commented when he finally woke up, removing pieces of wrapping paper from behind his little, foam glasses.  
“I knew you’d love them,” said Ron, but he was rifling through his drawers.  
“Ron what are you-“  
Ron retrieved whatever he was looking for. Harry watched him stare at it for a moment at tuck it gently into his pocket.  
“Oh Ronald,” and then he’d tackled Ron in a hug.  
——  
Draco had them all in there jumpers and scarfs, standing in the backyard of the burrow. A light sheen of snow covered the ground and the tree tops, but there was no wind, so the weather had no bite to it. It was simply pretty.  
“I had to pull on some connections for this one Weasley, so you better enjoy,” announced Draco from his spot in front of them. And standing behind Draco, having just apparated through the cold and snow of the garden, was none other than the seeker from The Chudley Canons. Galvin Gudgeon.  
Ginny squealed. So did Ron.  
He ran forward and shook Galvin’s hand excitedly, smiling so widely he cracked his chapped lips.  
“You- you’re- you,”Ron couldn’t breathe.  
“You must be Ron, I’ve heard a lot about you.”  
Ron’s eyes widened cartoonishly.  
“You have?!” His head willed to Draco, standing just inside the kitchen, mug in hand, smiling at Ron.  
“Yeah, your boyfriend, interesting chap.”  
“He sure is,” Ron giggled, “thank you for coming, oh merlins beard thank you for coming.”  
Calvin smiled, patting Ron on the back.  
“I’d love to stay, but I have festivities of my own to get back too-“Ron looked a little put out “-your pretty boy over there made me promise to take a picture with you. Not that I wouldn’t of done it anyways.” 

Ron was never going to stop kissing Draco. It didn’t matter how many times George shouted at them to get a room, or how much air he might need in his lungs. None of that mattered. Just the fact he’d met Galvin Gudgeon, and Draco, his amazingly smart, beautiful, talented boyfriend Draco, had done that for him. Unfortunately, even wizards need air, and Ron finally let up when his head began to swim.  
“I love you.” He said to Draco, breathing heavily.  
“I know,” said Draco sarcastically, though his face was flushed and his lips were wet and a little swollen.  
“Love you too weasel.” 

It was four o’clock when Ron decided to do it. The conversation led right into it. Because George had said  
“We all saw the incredible gift Draco got you, let’s hope Ron forgot to buy you anything- god knows what comes next after that snog show.”  
Everyone laughed good heartedly at this.  
And then Hermione had said,  
“You didn’t forget did you Ron?”  
“Of course I didn’t forget. My own boyfriend? Who do you take me for?”  
Which again made everyone laugh.  
“Alright alright, you can have it now Draco, but everyone quiet down first.”  
As instructed, a hush fell quickly over the large family, Draco sat in the middle of the sofa looked puzzled but delighted, he loved being the centre of attention when the reasons were right.  
Ron took a shuddering breathe.  
“Merlin’s beard don’t wet yourself Ron,” sniggered George, but he was quickly silenced by Ginny’s fast elbow in his ribs.  
“Draco. I’ve known you since we were eleven. And, I wish I could say we got off to a great start,” a soft laugh bubbled between Harry and Hermione, “Things were never too incredible between us. And I spent nights trying to find the exact moment that changed. I couldn’t quite crack wether it was that day in potions class, when we were forced to be partners, or the day me and Harry saved your life. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe all of it. Maybe this has all been slowly building from the start. I’ve never been one for fate. But I’ve never been one for big, coherent speeches, and yet here we are. My point is, despite all the horrible arguments, and the fighting, we found something with one another that I never, ever want to lose. I’ve found in you the same thing my Dad found in my Mum. I’ve seen, first hand, how easily life can be snatched from you. And I can’t waste, one more second of whatever time we’ve got left, not being committed to you in every way possible. And so,” Ron took his trembling hands into Draco’s pulling Draco to his feet, Molly gasped and Harry thought he heard her mug break. Ron lowered himself onto one knee and the entire room fell impossibly silent. Like everyone stopped breathing at once. “Would do me, the incredible honour, of making me the happiest wizard, the happiest man, in the world,” he pulled the ring box from his pocket, opening it slowly to display the gold band, and the small, bright diamond set into the band, “And marry me?”  
There was a dreadful, beautiful, impossibly long, second long pause. Then Draco sniffed. Then he sniffed again. It seemed he’d forgotten how to speak. Then, all of sudden, he sobbed, in the most none-Malfoy way ever, and cried,  
“Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot.”  
Ron was sure they disturbed their neighbours with the cheer they sent up next, the neighbours that lived over ten miles away that is. In the middle of the noise, Ron pulled Draco into his chest, ring fitted too his finger cozily.  
He whispered softly too him, “Thank you Malfoy.”  
Draco answered simply, “That’s Weasley to you.”


	2. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you doing?”  
> “Proposing you nut.”
> 
> (TW:self harm, strong language)

Ron didn’t actually think he’d attended many weddings. There was one, Bill and Fluers of course, but stuck out in his memory for all the wrong reasons. He honestly wasn’t sure how he thought he’d be able to plan a weddings, let alone his own. Luckily for Ron, Draco seemed to know exactly what he was doing. One sunny afternoon, Draco and Ron were sitting in their living room. Their house wasn’t huge. It sat in the valleys of muggle Scotland, but far enough away from the population that they could use magic comfortably. When they had left school Ron had assumed Draco would want to live somewhere grand, like he had his whole life. Ron had been wrong. Draco was definitely one for the lavish and grand, but he’d always hated the mansion. It’s cold stone walls and echoing footsteps. Draco wanted to live somewhere homely, somewhere safe and warm. Te house hadn’t cost too much, they managed to split it 70/30, which made Ron feel ashamed but Draco constantly reassured him it was perfectly okay. They had a small hall, down the left was the doors to the bathroom and straight in front, the kitchen, the kitchen led into an open plan living room. To the right was the wooden staircase, which disappeared into the top floor. Upstairs were two bedrooms. They hand’t done anything with the smaller one yet, and when Molly had visited she’d commented about grandchildren, which had made Draco cackle and Ron blush like a rose. 

Draco lay with his head on one end of the sofa, his grey socked feet in Ron’s lap. Ron was laying back on the sofa, his head dangling onto the back. Draco wore soft grey jogging bottoms, they complimented his eyes and the white t-shirt he wore matched well. Ron, much more favourable to warmer colours, wore black jogging bottoms and a tight orange T-shirt, which Draco despised the colour of but didn’t complain, he enjoyed the way it pressed into Ron’s muscled figure. 

“Okay-‘ he said into the silence all of a sudden, sitting up quickly “- I found some suits,” He pushed the magazine he had in his hand towards Ron. Blaine had sent a tonne over, he’d been rather thrilled to hear of their engagement.  
“Draco this page is packed, you’ve gotta point them out to me,” Draco’s finger stabbed quickly, and he looked exasperated, like it was obvious which ones he meant. 

Ron appraised the suit carefully. “It looks...expensive,”

“I told you, you’re not allowed to worry about that.” Draco huffed at him and Ron smiled sheepishly. 

“Fine, but aren’t you supposed to find clothes last? You know after venue and guests and all the other stuff ?”

‘Brides always picks their dresses first, everything else goes around that.” Ron snorted at him,  
“Draco, you’re not a bride, you’re a groom, open of two grooms actually,”

“I’m as close to a bride as this wedding is going to get,” he sniffed, taking the pictures back from Ron, “and besides, I can’t pick a venue until you tell me what you want.”

They’d been having this conversation a lot recently, and truly, Ron didn’t know. He honestly wouldn’t of minded if Draco decided everything, and if his only responsibility was to show up and look good, but he knew that wasn’t fair. Ron enjoyed wedding planning with Draco, but picking things out wasn’t his specialty. He didn’t have a favourite anything, really. Two best friends, more siblings than anyone needed, two favourite house colours, the only thing he thought he was solid on was Draco. But even romantically, he liked men and women. This just wasn’t his specialty.

“Well... I want it to be inside-“

“Good start Ron,” Draco snorted at him, continuing to flick through the pages. Ron sighed. Draco looked over at him, sympathy leaking into his features. He could see Ron was trying.

“Oh Ronnie,” said Draco, shifting his feet so he could lean closer to Ron, “You’re a sweetheart.” Then Draco giggled, pressing a light kiss to Ron’s jaw.

“We could always get married in the shrieking shack,”Ron perked p at this, laughing lightly. 

“George wants to elope. But he can’t do that to my Mum.” Ron paused.  
“Dray?”

“Yeah?”

The words may of came out a little nosier than he intended, “Who are you inviting?”

Draco’s face fell a little.  
“I would, love, for my Mother to come. But I’m not sure she’ll ever show her face in Britain again. Blaise and Pans of course, a few cousins...other than that? I guess all my guests are yours.” Draco smiled sadly at Ron, and Ron caught the single tear that fell down Draco’s face. Draco sniffed softly. 

“It’s okay. This isn’t about them or the value or the outfits or the food. It’s about us. For all I care we really could get married in the Shrieking shack. Surrounded by giant spiders,” Draco laughed, Ron rubbed the soft pad of his thumb under Draco’s eye, letting his fingers cup Draco’s face, “As long as we’re together.”

And then he kissed Draco, softly, pulling him in the sit over Ron’s lap. He let his hands travel down Draco’s sides and settle on his waist, groaning slightly when Draco tugged on his hair.

When they arrived at the Burrow, two months before the date of the wedding, the sun was low in the sky. Autumn was beginning and Draco loved it, the smell of it in the air and the crunch of the leaves beneath his feet. When they got inside, they were greeted by Arthur and Molly. They’d invited everyone round for tea, and Draco refused to miss their family dinners, no matter how much Ron complained. When they sat down in the living room, Harry Ginny and Hermione were all already in their. Sitting close by Hermione, staring transfixed at a wall, was Luna.  
But before they cold say hi, Draco noticed the child in Harry’s arms.

“It hasn’t been that long since we last saw you potter,” commented Draco, setting himself on the sofa next to a giggling Ron.

Harry chuckled, “No it hasn’t, this is my godson, Teddy Lupin, he;s staying with us this weekend.” Draco froze. He stared at the small, green haired toddler, wriggling around in Harry’s arms. 

“Lupin?” Draco asked, the tiniest of sad smiles tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Dray? What’s up?”

Hermione gasped. “Oh! Oh of course!” She smiled kindly at Draco.  
“Tanks was your cousin, wasn’t she?”  
Draco nodded gently,  
“We never really met, there was the odd comment made about her, I suppose I wasn’t particularly concerned...I went to her funeral. You wouldn’t of seen me. I stayed in the back. I was the only Malfoy there.”

There was a soft pause, and Teddy made his way to the floor. He shifted his hair, seemingly uncontrollably from ginger, to blonde and then back to ginger. 

‘We’re confusing him,” smiled Ron, bending slightly to pick Teddy up onto his lap. Teddy leant over towards Draco from where he sat on Ron, and made grabby motions with his fingers.

“Pretty! Pretty!” Teddy shouted, leaning himself risky out of Ron’s arms. He grabbed Draco’s hand, twiddling with the ring on his finger. Draco smiled  
“It is pretty isn’t it? Would you like to try it on?”

“Nuh uh, fingeis too small,” Teddy giggled then burped, his hair was a strawberry blonde colour.  
Draco pulled him into his lap, and ruffled his hair, teddy who was facing him, screwed his face up hard, and when he opened his eyes again, they were a grey-blue colour, and his hair was stark blonde. 

“Wow, very impressive little man,” Teddy clapped happily.

“You’d make a good dad Draco,” said Luna airily.

“Yeah, you would,” said Ron softly, staring at Draco with teddy in his arms. Draco grinned back sheepishly. 

“It’s too bad you guys can’t have kids of your own,” said Ginny thoughtfully.

“It’s not too bad actually,” said Ron as he stretched, placing an arm around Draco’s shoulders when Harry came to retrieve Teddy.

‘It’s not?” Asked Hermione.  
“No,” Draco replied, ‘taking kids out of the adoption system, and into warm caring homes is much better than over populating the planet.”

“Plus-‘ said Ron, grinning widely, “We never have to be careful.”

“Gross,’ said Harry, but Draco just laughed, and punched Ron lightly in the side.  
Harry looked puzzled. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again a few times.

“Spit it out Hazzer,” said Ginny playfully, rubbing his back. He stared at Ron and Draco, biting back a grin.  
“So who-? I mean- which one of you- you know?”

Ron choked on his own spit, and Hermione went into hysterics on the floor.  
“You, of all people, would be the last person I told,’ snorted Ron.

“But honestly Harry,’ said Draco, giving him a knowing smile, “Which way do you think?”

He appraised his best friend. Ron cleared six foot, and played sport lots, resulting in a slender but muscular frame. He had a strong jaw, and large, rough hands. Draco on the other hand, couldn’t of been above 5’10. He was slender, almost skinny, and his proportions reminded Harry of a cat.  
‘Well-“ but then Draco licked carefully over the bottom of his top teeth, raising an eyebrow, and Ron blushed next to him. 

“I know what you think i think. But I honestly can’t tell.”

Draco smirked.  
“Good.”

Dinner was noisy, but Draco was used to it by now. He sat in general conversation with Percy for a while, before George asked,  
‘So, you guys are all sorted for the wedding then?”

“Yeah pretty much,’ said Draco, because Ron’s mouth was full of food. Draco played with his ring whenever he spoke about the wedding.

“We’re still welcome to have it here Molly?”

“Of course my boy, of course! We jus have some setting up to do.”  
Draco smiled thankfully at her. He felt Ron’s arm drape over his shoulder casually and he leant into the warmth of it.

“Draco hasn’t let me near the outfits,” Ron grouches playfully.

“Because that is simply my specialty darling, I’ve left you to the food-‘

“Oh Merlin, you haven’t really have you?” Moaned Charlie, “It’ll all be pork and chicken- I’ll starve!”

Everyone laughed, but Ron looked mildly offended.  
‘It’s not all just going to be meat- I have taste you know.”

“You have taste in men, not food,” Draco snickered, leaning into him playfully. 

That evening, Draco couldn’t sleep. He lay awake, thinking about it all. Every once in a while he would turn and glance at Ron, snoring loudly beside him. He remembered clearly, every moment that had lead him to this exact moment, and yet, he still somehow had no idea how he’s gotten here. How everything in his past had lead him to deserve something as perfect as this. He leant over and brushed some hair out of Ron’s face, admiring the cute way his features scrunched in reaction. He spent a lot of time scratching at the tattoo on his arm. He ignored it purposefully all the time, it was extremely faded now, and there were scars around it from the horrible nights he’d spent trying to scratch it off of himself. Their small blonde dog was sleeping just as loudly as Ron, curled up on the bottom of the bed. Draco could see his cat swishing it’s tail gently over on the windowsill, surely awake. Draco blew a soft breathe from his nose in the darkness. 

“Thank you.” He said to no one in particular. 

Two nights before the wedding, Ron was due to have his bachelors party. And so was Draco.  
“They really won’t tell you where you’re going?” 

“Nope,” replied Ron, tugging on a black sweater. Draco hummed playfully.

“Maybe it’s strippers,” he said, buttoning up his navy blue shirt.

Ron chuckled,  
“A strip bar with my brothers? As lovely as it sounds, I’ll have to pass.” 

Draco giggled, wrapping his arms around Ron’s torso, looking at the both of them in their mirror. Draco had his sleeves rolled up. Ron hummed gently, staring at the side of the mark that was visible to him on Draco’s arm.

“Short sleeves?” He asked simply.

“Short sleeves.” Replied Draco, smiling at Ron in his reflection. 

When the first knock at the door came, Draco answered it. He laughed historically at the boys, including Harry, who were all decked out in banners and caps that read,  
“We’re with the groom.” It was tacky, and hilarious and Draco loved it. He shoved Ron through the door, telling him to have a goodnight, and telling Harry to take care of him.  
Draco had just about settled back into his chair when the door knocked again, he smirked at Blaise when he opened it and at his badly printed shirt that read 

‘We’re with the groom,’

“You look ridiculous,” he paused, his eyes drifting to Goyle and Pansy, “all of you. You also clash with Ron’s party. I’ve missed you.”

Pansy hugged him first, hard and fast, then Blaise, who patted his back. Goyle pulled him into a bro hug, thumping him on the back. When he pulled away, a light sheen of tears played in his eyes.

“He would’ve been here.” Draco smiled sadly.

“I know.”

The night started off simply enough, Pansy and Blaise argued passive aggressively over which kind of club to take Draco too. 

“Pans, why would we take him to a strip club?”

“He’ll enjoy it far more than some dingy bar-“

“No, you’ll enjoy it far more than some dingy bar,” Goyle interjected, making Draco chuckle. 

“I don’t think Ron would appreciate it if i came home covered in glitter and oil from some random man’s chest.”

Pansy slouched, “Oh yeah, a male strip bar.”

“It’s not about you Pans.”

She put a hand to her forehead dramatically, gasping.  
“It’s always about me,” then she mock fell into Blaise’s arms, “I crave the touch of a woman- my Mother never loved me-“

“That’s enough,” chuckled Blaise, lowering Pansy to the floor.

“I wonder what my Father would say if he could see me now,” Draco pondered as they entered the first bar of the night. It was quiet, Draco liked that. He wasn’t one for sweat and dancing, that was something him and Blaise could agree on. Pansy looked a little grouchy.  
Blaise looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he laughed. 

“What? On your way to your bachelor party with Slytherin’s finest? Or getting ready to marry a man, a man that’s a Weasley no less, making you, by extension, a soon to be Weasley?”

“Yes, never mind,” Laughed Draco, taking his seat next to Pansy in a booth with red leather lining.

“Speaking of your Father,” she said matter of factory, tweaking her green plaid skirt, “How does he not know about this? I don’t have a subscription to the Daily Prophet, but surely, ‘Former Death Eater set to marry The Chosen Ones Best Friend’, makes for an excellent title?”

Goyle snorted and fell into chortles, so loud they attracted a few stares. Draco kicked him under the table.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to read the prophet in Azkaban.” Said Draco simply.

“Oh right- sorry Draco”

“Don’t be, I’m not. I have no sympathy for him’” he paused momentarily, to ask Blaise to get him something strong, “but I suppose Mother knows by now. We’re famous worldwide. Or at least, Ronnie is.”

“Ronnie,” Pansy mocked, giggling aggressively, curling in on herself.  
Blaise returned and set down their drinks. And a row of shots, he stared at Pansy, then snorted.  
“What are you talking about?”

“Mother,” Draco replied, “I sent her an invite. And a letter explaining, everything. I don’t know wether she’ll want to come.” There was a hint of sadness in his tone, but Draco wasn’t one to show vulnerability around his friends, so the tears attempting to brim his eyes would have to wait.

“Enough of that,” he sighed, knocking his first shot back and scrunching his face. Blaise cackled.  
“Shit Blaise-“ he coughed- “What’s in these?” He held up his small, empty shot glass, staring into it as if it had the answers.

“Let’s put it this way,” Blaise smirked, “if you remember tonight, I’ll be impressed.”

———-

“Do you remember what your bachelor party was gonna be when we were thirteen?”Harry laughed from his seat at the long table next to Ron.

“You mean do I remember anything from our third year besides you being hunted by your supposed serial killer god father and thinking Hermione’s cat had eaten my rat, my rat that I later found out was the man who actually caused the death of your parents?” Ron chuckled darkly, swirling the beer in his hands, “because if that’s what you’re asking harry, the answer is no.”

Harry stared at Ron, incredulous. “Either we’ve let you have one too many beers and I’m now talking to drunk, intellectual Ron, or you’re spending far too much time with Draco”

Ron snorted, mostly because he didn’t know the answer.  
“We were gonna go egg Draco’s mansion-“ Ron snorted loudly, coking on his drink. 

“We were going to what? Oh Merlin I remember that!” Ron began to cackle, drawing ofd looks from his brothers taken by their own conversations. “How things...change.”

Percy was sat opposite Ron, he seemed mildly unimpressed with the entire affair, but he clearly wanted to be there or he wouldn’t be in attendance. George stood up from his chair abruptly, swaying lightly in his almost drunk-ness.

“Excuse me-“ his words were a little slurred, and Ron cringed. He didn’t like seeing George drunk, it reminded him too much of after the war. Whenever they saw George, which wasn’t often, he was wasted.  
“I have something to say, my little brother is daring to get married before me-“

“Only because you want hurry up and plan your own wedding!” Charlie hollered from his seat at the other end of the table. George laughed but m,over on quickly.

“Anyways, besides that, I just wanted to say that I’m proud of you. It’s the last person I expected- any of us expected- but I’ve seen the way you’ve changed with Draco, I’ve seen the way Draco has changed with you. You make each other better, and you fit together a lot more than I ever saw coming. And- I can not believe I’m saying this- I’ve come to see Draco as a brother. Sure, a posh, slightly closed off and emo brother, but we have that in Percy too. Being here to celebrate with you, celebrate you finding the way to the rest of your life, makes me happy. I just wish-“ George stared for a moment, seemingly nowhere, but he recovered quickly, giving his brothers a sad smile “- I wish Fred was here. And he would be. Knocking back shots and teasing you for winding yourself up in this situation in the first place.” He raised his glass, “This one goes to Ron, to all of you, and your happy endings. We chase them because he can’t.” 

“Cheers,” said Ron, smiling at his brother and wiping roughly at his eyes. As George sat down, a waitress wondered over, noticing the banners. 

“Whose the lucky groom?” She said, setting down their drinks.

“That would be me,” said Ron, freckled face blushed from the alcohol. The waitress leant over the table from next to Percy, giving Ron a seductive look.

“Want to have fun on your last night of freedom red-head?” The waitress smirked, putting her hands under her chin. Harry chuckled and Bill raised an eyebrow at Ron. Ron decided to have a little fun with her, regardless of the fact he liked women too, he despised the notion of “The Last Night Of Freedom.” He was commuted to Draco in every way. Ron put one hand on his hip and the other arms elbow on the table, letting his wrist fall to the side. If he was going to go for it, he was going to go for it. Go big or go home. 

“Oh honey,” he puckered his bottom lip, “I’m marrying a man. You’re cute though.” George roared with laughter, tears slipping frown his cheeks, as were the rest of Ron’s brothers. Harry was snickering, pretending to polish his glasses, and even Percy was biting back a grin. 

———

The morning of the wedding, they woke up at the burrow. Draco was in Hermione’s bed, which smelt vaguely of strawberry and book pages. It was comforting, it reminded him of his Mother. Draco, to Ron’s annoyance, wanted to keep to the tradition of not seeing each other before the wedding. That’s why he was in Hermione’s room. It was a cold October morning, there was a small layer of frost covering the bottoms panes of the window. His suit was hung on the back of the door. The tux itself was black, all black. They tie and the shirt too, and his shoes were matte velvet black. Draco took his time getting ready ans showering, and had shut managed to button up his shirt when Ginny, luna and Hermione came knocking at is door. 

“Pansy isn’t here yet,” said Hermione when he welcomed them in. 

“We wanted to help you get ready,” said Ginny, setting herself down on the floor.

“First of all, you’re ruining my dress, get up off the floor,” he chastised Ginny, yanking her as gently and he could up off the ground, “second of all, you totally came to see if I had cold feet.” He accused playfully, pulling on his trousers. 

Ginny giggled, confirming Draco’s claim. They were all decked out in grey, Hermione in the lightest shade, then Ginny, then Luna. Pansy verged on black, or she would, when she arrived. Draco allowed them to pick their own shoes, as long as they could fit in the colour scheme. Hermione had chosen some grey plums, Ginny some lace up sneakers and Luna some strange heels that Draco bit his tongue about. He had let them chose after all. He was just adjusting the white flower accent wine tethered came another knock at the door, and it was both Pansy and Blaise, wearing the same shade of outfit, but Blaise in a suit and tie. Blaise’s shirt was white. Draco grinned at them, pulling them into the small room and having all of them crowd onto the small bed while he gelled his hair. The house must’ve been getting pretty packed, because Draco could hear the buzz of light chatter increasing downstairs. He knew it was all Weasleys or friends of Weasleys, because he hadn’t invited that’s much of his family. He heard the distinct posh tones of his friends from the boarding school he attended as a very small child, before Hogwarts. They all descended from wizard in families, either pure or half blooded, though the majority were pure blooded. He was sure they wouldn’t cause any trouble, he’d kept contact with them all these years and they seemed to of grown in similar ways to himself. Draco pulled on the sleeves of his tailed blazer, rubbing gently over the mark hidden beneath the layers of fabric. 

“We should get going,” said Blaise after a while of them talking and fastening each other’s outfits.  
“We should,” said Hermione, checking her small muggle wrist watch. “We wouldn’t want to miss anything. Draco whose walking you up the aisle?” Draco smiled, a little sadness in his eyes. 

“Arthur.” Replied Draco, clasping his hands together softly. 

In Ron’s room, things were calmer than he’d thought they would be. He woke Harry up when he woke up, so they could get ready together, and so someone would move his tie in case he needed to throw up. His tux was the opposite of Draco’s, but he didn’t know that yet. His blazer was white, as was his shirt, but e had no tie, instead, a waist coat with small black buttons. His shoes weren’t shined, but a matte velvet. Ron didn’t like doing his hair, so he shook it up gently from it’s sleep style. Harry was wearing a grey suit, the same light grey as Hermione’s. Harry smiled at himself in the mirror, adjusting his hair helplessly. 

“If nothing, Draco has taste,” he commented, admiring his shoes as he laced them. 

“Yeah, in men.” Ron replied, sitting on the edge of his bed. Harry laughed and moved to sit beside him. 

“We have to go soon Ron,” said Harry and then, “Unless, you’re not up for it?”

“Merlin Harry, you don’t half beat around the bush do you? Of course I’m up for it. I’m just nervous.”

“Yeah, that makes sense- but if this is what you want?” Ron nodded aggressively, “then it’ll be perfect. I promise.”

Ron arrived in his back garden ten minutes later, and gasped. The entire place had been decked out perfectly. There was a huge white gazebo with real glass pained windows, the early morning sun sweeping through and melting the gentle layer of frost on the floor. There were chairs on either side of the aisle, not pews, and they were on w white and black pattern. Above his head, small light seemed to buzz gently around the room, which, on closer inspection, were friendly glowing pixies. At the head of the room stood Blaise, Draco’s best man, and Pansy, his bridesmaid. Opposite them, chattering quietly, was Hermione, soon to be accompanied by Harry. 

“He’s out done himself with this one,” said Hermione softly as they arrived, she hugged Ron, hard, tears shining her eyes. 

“Oh don’t cry ‘Mione, then I’ll cry-“ sniffed Ron, patting her arm gently. 

“Sorry, sorry-“ she laughed at herself, gently dabbing her tears. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Asked Blaise rhetorically from across the aisle, they turned to look at him, and Ron nodded in agreement. Harry admired Blaise’s suit, and then his own. 

“This is all very detailed,” he commented, in reference to the tones of their outfits. 

“Of course it is, it’s Draco, how could it not be?” Blaise smirked, cuffing the sleeves of his blazer. You could tell by the way he stood he thought he looked insanely good. 

Pansy snorted. “If I’m not allowed to make the bachelor party all about me, you can’t make the wedding all about you,” then she shoved Blaise lightly, giggling. 

“Pansy, I’m just cuffing my sleeves, you wanted female strippers-“

“What’s this about strippers?” Ron asked, eyes darting between Blaise and Pansy. But then only laughed. 

“Don’t worry-“ said Pansy, rolling her eyes, “your man is far, far too loyal.” 

Ron smiled softly. 

Draco hadn’t put Ron in white out of spite, honestly, it was more because it suited Ron better, but now he was glad he was the one in black. Because as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, Arthur waiting to take his arm, the music just beginning, he was sweating buckets. 

“Are you ready Draco?” Draco looked up at Arthur, they were the only two in the house. He looked into Arthur’s eyes, blue like Ron’s, but aged, kind, loving. So different from his own Fathers. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” whispered Draco, standing and taking Arthurs arm. 

“Oh how strange it is,” said Arthur quietly as they began to walk, Draco only just heard him, “to have six boys again.”

Ron knew his boyfriend was beautiful. Merlin, he’d known that before they started dating. But he had no idea that his boyfriend could be, this beautiful. He swallowed, thickly. How could someone be decked out in all black and still manage to look like an angel? Ron could feel the tears rushing to his eyes, they stung harshly, but he didn’t stop them falling. 

“You absolute melt.” Draco mouthed silently, but he was crying too, the sun glinting off of the tears. Draco thought he might’ve heard Blaise sniffle behind him when he got to the front of the make shift room, but he couldn’t really pay much attention to anyone but Ron. They might as well have not of sent any invitations. Because the room felt empty. Draco knew when he was supposed to speak, and he did, luckily, at the right times. But all he could think about was Ron, his face his eye, his perfect freckled skin, his blazing hair. 

Ron got his words right, thank Merlin, because he doesn’t usually get them right anyways. Especially not when he can’t focus. And having Draco Fucking Malfoy right in front of his face was a great way to get Ron to not focus. He couldn’t think of anything really, but a few moments seared into his brain.

The moment one small strand of platinum hair fell in front of Draco’s eyes. The moment he heard Draco utter the words, “Your hair is winter fire, January embers. My heart burns there too,” and the moment his hands were on Draco’s waist, Draco’s perfect waist, and he was kissing him. He was kissing Draco Weasley. 

Draco quite found he enjoyed being Mr Weasley. It had been a total of twenty-three whole minutes, but yes, he liked this very much. He didn’t like the loud chatter, or the fact he had to acknowledge the emptiness of his side of the aisle. He didn’t like how much ginger there was in the room, or the fact that even on his wedding day, Ron couldn’t not eat like an animal. But for some reason, he couldn’t stop smiling. Even when Ron’s great aunt smacked him upside the head. Ron really hadn’t wanted to do a first dance, but Draco had insisted, teaching him in their living room, pretty much since Ron proposed. And so when the time came for it, it actually wasn’t so bad. Ron ad more fun with it then he thought he would, and Draco was an excellent dancer because, of course he was.  
After everyone joined in dancing after a while, and Ron begrudging let Blaise cut in.

“What’s the worst I could do Weasley? You just married him.” Blaise smirked, taking Draco’s hand. They cleared the floor quickly enough, they danced like they’d been training for years. Ron wasn’t even surprised, he hadn’t expected anything less from the princes of Slytherin. 

When the crowd began to seep away, and Teddy was still wriggling around on the dance floor, the band switching into something up beat for him, someone apperated into the corner of the room. And Draco hadn’t been expecting it. And he hated her, he did. She’d abandoned him. She hadn’t even thought of him. Wrote to him. And yet, he still hugged her, harder then he;d ever hugged her before. He thought she might be crying, but it was hard to tell because he was crying too. 

“Oh my dear boy,” she said, as she pulled away, looking up at him (because she did have to look up now), “how you’ve grown.” She gently pushed a strand of hair from his face, and patted his cheek. 

“Mother.” Draco breathed shakily, smiling at her, “You came.”

‘I wouldn’t miss it, now, re-introduce me to Mr Weasley will you?”  
Draco smiled.

‘I’m Mr Weasley now too, you know.” He replied, as they walked back across the room. 

“Oh you took his name, good. I always wished I’d stayed as a Black, ah Arthur.” She said, not unkindly. 

“Mrs Malfoy,” he replied simply, warmer than she had, “It’s a pleasure to see you again, I trust you’re keeping well.” 

“Very,” She said, “Now, whereas my sons husband?” Ron was sitting behind them, one foot sitting over the other legs knee. He appraised Narcissa carefully. Draco shot him a look, telling him silently to be kind. 

“Evening, mrs Malfoy, nice of you to show up.” Draco blew a fast breath from his nose, shaking his head at Ron, but Narcissa ignored the back handed-ness of it. 

‘It’s nice to see you again Ron, god the last time I saw you you must’ve been twelve, thirteen?”

“Mhm.” Ron commented dismissively, he wasn’t having any of it. He held Draco, crying, after too many unreturned letters, too many nightmares and desperate days by the fire, just hoping she would floo. Just to check in, to see if maybe, just maybe, she’d bother to show. But she never did. Maybe Draco would let her off, but Ron wouldn’t. 

Narcissa didn’t stick around long, but that was okay. Soon after she left, so did Ron and Draco. 

“I left him to plan everything about the wedding,” grinned Ron, packing up his things. Harry was leaning against the doorframe behind him, blazer discarded somewhere. 

“I could tell,” snorted Harry, picking up a sock off the floor and tossing it at him. Ron caught it without turning around. 

“But the honeymoon? That’s all mine.”


	3. Paris and Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blah...I’ve been gone for a while, and boy did I have a lot going on. I hope y’all enjoy. Comment and leave kudos :)  
> TW- Self Harm, Language, Jealousy

My Scars Aren’t Battle Scars Like Yours

Draco had seen the scratches before. The scars. The long healed over wounds. But his hands still ache to trace each one, every time Ron takes his shirt off. Like he’s never seen them before, like he doesn’t know the story behind each one. The self inflicted, the childhood injuries, the battle scars. He traces them gently, in the early morning light. He does it with just enough lack of pressure, so as not to wake Ron up. He starts with the ones on the palms of his hands, rough to the touch, then he traces up Ron’s arms, traces oh so carefully over the scars he knows Ron put there himself. He doesn’t bother to wipe at the single tear that falls from his eye. The he moves to Ron’s torso, calm, sculpted muscles, covered in freckles. On Ron’s rib cage, there’s a spattering of scars, the ones he’d told Draco that they’d tried to heal away after the war. But he hadn’t let them. There’s the small crescent moon scars, on either side of his stomach. These come from the moment he kneeled next to Fred’s body, arms hugging himself, nails dug so deeply into either side that he bled. There were ones that Draco couldn’t see. Below the bed sheet. The ones on his legs from failed quidditch practice. The scratches that run down his back. But these aren’t old, they’re red raw, only put there a few hours earlier. Draco smirks, burying himself in Ron’s shoulder. These, in his opinion, were the best scars. 

Draco had fallen back to sleep by the time Ron woke up, there wasn’t much else to do. Ron couldn’t actually see Draco when he opened his eyes at first, just the soft cream of the paint of their hotel room ceiling. He had to shift, sitting up in the bed, to notice Draco. But by default, Draco’s head slid off of Ron’s chest, waking him.  
“Morning,” Ron chuckled deeply, rubbing at Draco’s head, Draco shook him off. 

“It’s practically noon,” Draco yawned, turning to look out of the balcony window. The view was just as incredible as he remembered it from last night, except now it was doused in late morning sun, instead of lively street life. 

Draco hadn’t actually believed it, Ron had made him close his eyes the entire time they were walking, after arriving via portkey. 

“Ron,” Draco had complained after he’d literally have to stand with his eyes closed while they checked in.

“Dray.” Ron returned when he guided Draco into the lift, thankfully someone else had hit the button to their floor because Ron had no idea how it worked. The woman standing to the right of Ron and Draco, gave Ron a strange look, but Ron just grinned. Once he’d opened the door to the room, he led Draco by the hips as carefully as possible through the place. It was actually more of an apartment then a room, and Ron couldn’t help but be proud of the fact he was able to afford it. They’d stopped by the balcony, Ron pulling open the doors to the soft touch of the night air. 

“Okay, open your eyes Mr Weasley,” he said to Draco softly, placing Draco’s hands on the railing, underneath his own. When Draco opened his eyes, he could see the Eiffel Tower. 

“You-Ron-Ronnie- oh Merlin,” said Draco softly, leaning back into Ron’s chest. Ron smiled, his eyes crinkling in joy. He wrapped his arms carefully around Draco, as if handling something very fragile.  
“It’s beautiful,” he breathed, placing his hands over Ron’s. Ron responded, without shifting his eyes from Draco.

“Yeah, it sure is.” Then he kissed Draco, gently, leaning down slightly as he worked his lips along Draco’s neck and shoulder. Draco shuddered lightly. Ron chuckled.

“We should get you to bed,” he said, running the tip of his nose along the skin behind Draco’s ear. Draco gulped.

“Bed sounds good.” 

Draco replayed the memory of the night before, and the events that happened when they stumbled back inside, playing ideally with the tips of Ron’s hair. 

“Mr Weasley-“

“Yes Mr Weasley?” Ron pulled Draco softly into his lap. Draco smiled, slapping his chest gently. 

“What’s the plan for today?” 

“Plan? I didn’t think I had to plan things,” drawled Ron playfully, squeezing Draco’s waist, “I thought my mind blowing sex was enough.” 

“Mind blowing? Don’t flatter yourself.” Huffed Draco, rolling off the bed. He was half naked, wearing a pair of Ron’s pyjama shorts. 

Ron looked a little genuinely offended, then he smirked, noticing the hi kids all over Draco’s back.  
“Do you remember when you gave me a hickey?” Draco looked over to him, raising his eyebrows.

“Which time?” 

Ron laughed, scratching the back of his neck, “The first one.” Draco grinned wickedly. 

“In eighth year? The one it took you all day to notice?” 

“Mhm,” hummed Ron, admiring the marks he’d left all over Draco’s skin. “ I do get it.” 

Draco rolled his eyes, walking away to the bathroom. Ron heard the shower go on. 

“Without me?” He said, pouting.

“Fuck off Weasel,” laughed Draco, “seriously though, what today?” 

“Depends,” Ron replied, climbing out of bed and yawning, smirking at himself in the mirror, “Can you walk?” 

“I can walk just fine you twerp,” huffed Draco playfully, even though his knees were a little shaky.

“Alright, alright, we’re going for a walk, visiting somewhere special, we can eat if you like?”

“Hmmmm,” said Draco, washing his hair, “I know you said I can’t worry about money-“

“Because you can’t,” said Ron, sticking his head into the bathroom.

“You have to let me pay for something, I’ll take dinner today.” 

“I don’t want you taking pity on me,” Draco was stepping out of the shower now, wrapping the soft hotel towels around his waist. 

“I’m not taking pity on you I-“ Draco had stepped through into the room. Ron was buttoning up a deep green shirt. It was more than just deep green, it was Slytherin green, the Sam green he’d closed around himself in curtains for years of his life. It complimented the colour of Ron’s skin so incredibly, it actually made Draco short of breath. Ron was speaking, at least Draco thinks he was, he couldn’t really focus on anything but the way the skin beneath Ron’s shirt was quickly disappearing, beneath the soft green of his shirt. 

“You,” gasped Draco, pushing back his wet hair with one hand, “are too hot for your own good.” Ron flushed, the colour peaking in his ears. 

“Says the man standing in a towel, dripping some minty mix between sweat and water-“ 

“-If the towel is bothering you,” muttered Draco, dropping it.  
Ron’s breath caught in his throat. 

They left for their walk later than they meant too, but Draco didn’t mind. He’d left Ron some brilliant new marks, blazing blue bruises on his hips, where Draco had gripped him tightly. Ronald had the exact place in mind as they set out, and it wasn’t so much of a walk, and Draco had fun admiring the little street on the way there. It was littered with tiny alleys and the smelled beautifully of fresh basil and bread. 

When they stopped it caught Draco up short, he hadn’t seen anywhere that they could stop at yet. Then he saw the small line, running down the wall of the log building next to them.

“We’re not eating in muggle Paris?”

“I’ve already subjected you to sleeping in muggle Paris,” chuckled Ron, pulling Draco’s back to his chest as they turned towards the building, his right hand going for his wand. The wall pulled apart in quite a grand show, and Draco could’nt help but feel relieved. Sometimes, the company of wizards was just better. 

The place they eventually stopped at was quaint, they served tea and cake. Draco smiled, this was slightly out of character for Ron. 

“Thank God,” he whispered dramatically as their waiter led them to their table, he’d finally found a perfect opportunity to show Ron how fluent he was in French, “I honestly thought we were heading to some sort of roast chicken den you’d managed to find.”

Ron chuckled a he pulled Draco’s small, metal chair out for him. They were sat just under the veranda, outside the shop.  
“Hey,” Ron whispered over his menu comically as they sat down, ducking under a tea cup floating slowly over his head, “give me your ring.”

“Pardon?” Asked Draco, scrunching his eyebrows. Ron frowned.

“Pass me your ring-“

‘You want me to take off my ring. On our honeymoon-“

“Shhh, if I propose again we’ll get free dessert,”

“I’m not letting you scam our-“

“It’s not scamming it’s smart-“

“I’ll give you smart,” he said, kicking Ron under the table. Just then the waiter arrived. He was a young man, a similar age to both Ron and Draco, with wavy black hair, cut short. He had striking lightly tanned skin, his build was more similar to Ron’s than Draco’s, muscular with a slender frame. He was staring at his pad when he approached.

“Bonjour, anglais ou français?” (English or french?) Ron pulled a face ands Draco snorted quietly, 

“English, si cela fonctionne pour vous?” replied Draco, smiling up at the waiter (if that works for you?) The waiter finally looks up from his pad, smiling politely. Rather abruptly his eye brows pull up, at the sight of Ron, and then impossibly more at the sight of Draco. It was then that Draco realised, since their engagement and subsequent marriage, they hadn’t really spent an awful amount of time around the general population. Draco hated being recongnised. It wasn’t the same as it was for Ron, getting handshakes and hugs, crying mothers asking him to kiss their babies. Draco only got dirty looks, people ushering off to the other side of the street. Sometimes, people would ask about the trial, or ask him if he was friends with Harry. And those interactions were nicer, just, difficult. Draco truly had no trust for anyone that treated him with admiration, asking for an autograph or to see his mark. Those people almost always meant nothing but trouble. 

“Merlin,” the waiter said in good English, the slightest hint of an accent trailing on his voice, then his eyes flicked quickly between Ron and Draco. “Quelle paire étrange”

Draco smirked, happy in the knowledge that he seemingly had no idea they were engaged. Married, Draco corrected hi chain of thought smiling inwardly. He looked up at the waiter again. 

“My name is Max, I’ll be your server this-“ he looked at the sky,” afternoon? Excuse me, I’m a little out of sorts today.” Draco laughed softly.

“Not to worry Max, I think I’ll just have a coffee, and I think my husband here will take a tea.”

Max did an almost excellent job of covering the shock reappearing in his eyebrows, by turning to Ron quickly. Ron had, apparently, been staring. To be fair to him, Ron there weren’t hundreds of men he found attractive. There was Draco, of course, and sometimes men he caught the eye of, but he did have a tendency to lean towards women sometimes. Staring up at Max while Draco spoke, Ron realised he didn’t really have a type. It would be unimaginable for Ron to cheat on Draco, ever, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t stop and enjoy the eye candy. Draco tilted his head

“He takes it with two sugars. Milky. I take mine black. Thanks.” Max smiled, turning back to Draco, then pivoting away. “You’re drooling you pig,” Ron snapped out of it, blushing furiously.

“I’m not drooling,” Ron replied indignantly, wiping at his dry mouth anyways, “What? Jealous?”

“You were quite literally checking someone else out. In front of me. On our honeymoon. I have every right to be jealous.” Draco sniffed folding his napkin. Ron stared at him for a moment, then rested his hand on the table, palm up. Draco looked up at Ron for a moment from under his lashes. This is what Ron used to do when Draco woke up from his nightmares, once he realised words were usually not the best medicine, he would lay his palm up softly and Draco would slip his hand into it. His anchor.  
Draco does it again now, slipping his slim hand into Ron’s slighter wider one. 

“You, are an arse.”

“An arse that you love.” Ron blinked slowly, flashing his big blue eyes.

“Correction, you have, an arse that I love.” Draco deadpanned, but he squeezed Ron’s fingers gently. “I just don’t like it,” Draco said after a few minutes, a comfortable silence had fallen over them, “You’re mine,’ he said very quietly, rolling Ron’s wedding ring. 

“What was that?” Asked Ron playfully, having heard Draco perfectly fine. 

“Tu es à moi. Mon mari. Ma rousse feu.” (You’re mine. My husband. my fiery red head.) 

“Huh?” Ron’s brow furrows lightly, and he tilts his head. Times like these he wishes he knew french, or any other language really. 

“Ah, Merci,” Draco says as Max The Waiter returns their drinks floating precariously next to him. They sit themselves down, the wrong way round and Draco uses his free hand to swap them. Max nods, only at Draco smiling softly. He sweeps his hair back with one hand, and sets the other in his pocket. He still hasn’t looked at Ron. Then he locks eyes with Draco. Max coughs awkwardly. 

“C'est gratuit. Mon manager est un fan,” says Max, (It’s free. My manager is, a fan.)

“De moi? C’est inquiétant.” Replies Draco, pulling a face. (Of me? That’s worrying.) Max laughs, his eyes shifting to Ron for a fraction of a second, and to their intertwined hands for another fraction of a second. Then back to Draco’s eyes, like the other two things he just acknowledged didn’t exist. 

“Il semble admirer votre amant roux, ses exploits d'adolescent. Personnellement, je suis fan de la vôtre. Votre bravoure. Tout le monde ne peut pas vivre tout ce que vous avez.” (He seems to admire your red headed lover, his teenage feats. Personall, I’m a fan of yours. Your bravery. Not everyone can go through everything you have.) Max smiled, still unmoving from Draco’s eyes. Neither of them stopped when Ron sighed, or when he began to grumble about something or other, sipping loudly on his tea. Draco smiles. 

“Vous ne lisez pas le journal?” (You do not read the news paper?) Max cackled, bending over for a moment, much to Ron’s confusion. Draco smiled again, knowingly.

“Jamais, on ne peut pas leur faire confiance,” (Never, they can’t be trusted.) Max smiled kindly, taking his leave rather soon afterwards.

——

“That was so unfair,” Ron huffed on the walk back to the hotel. 

“What? Jealous?” Draco smirked, pulling Ron through the front doors. Ron opened his mouth, fish like, closing it a couple of times. “Look Ronnie darling, it’s not my fault you don’t know French... it’s also not my fault that’s Max The Waiter was entirely more into me then he was you.”

‘That’s not- wait, did he say that?” Flushed Ron, as the lift doors shut behind him. 

“Maybe, why don’t you learn French and find out?” Said Draco, leaning against the back of the lift, giggling to himself as they went up slowly. Ron put one arm around Draco’s waist, hugging him in tightly.

“You, Mr Weasley, are so very cheeky,”

“Well what can I say? I learnt from the best.” Draco whispered, going to open the door to their suite. Before he could get their, Ron grabbed his hips, spinning him round and pressing them both against the door. He hovered his lips millimetres from Draco’s. Draco reached up and wrapped his arms around Ron’s neck. 

“You’re hot when you’re jealous,” whispered Draco. 

“So are you,” Ron whispered back, grinning before Draco kissed him softly, freeing one of his hands to open their door. Ron kicked it shut not long after detaching himself from Draco for air. 

“Drayyyy,” Ron whined softly, trying to pull him back in, but Draco moved too quickly, out of view. Ron could hear him humming softly to himself, and the soft thud of an article of clothing. When Ron turned the corner, Draco was shirtless, his lean slim torso laid back on a plush sofa. He had one leg bent, his foot resting on the chair, and the other stretched out. His hands resting behind his head, and his eyes closed, he looked impossibly peaceful. Ron grinned. Pulling his shirt off, dishevelling his hair in the process, he climbed over Draco, perching one hand on either side of Draco’s head, and pressing his lips gently to Draco’s nose. Beneath him, Draco smiled, his small pink lips looked so perfect, so kissable in that moment, that Ron groaned. Draco flicked on eyelid open, and cocked one pale eyebrow at Ron. Ron just laugh, and lowered his head to Draco’s neck and collarbone, which made Draco groan in return. Ron mumbled against his collarbone.  
“What?” Draco said, eyelids hooded.  
“I said,” snickered Ron, coming up for air, “It’s going to be a long day.”


	4. The Baby (but not theirs)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco never really wanted kids. Right?

“Dray,” Ron said, ruffling Draco’s hair lightly, “it won’t hurt if we stay one more day, I promise.” 

Draco huffed, attempting to wriggle himself (with dignity) out of Ron’s grip. But Ron wasn’t budging, pulling Draco closer to his chest, and pulling them both back onto the hotel bed. Ron kissed the soft spot behind Draco’s ear and Draco fought off a moan. 

Their suitcases were packed, Draco’s clothes folded neatly and Ron’s scrunched up and thrown in, sleeves and pant legs hanging out of undone zips. 

“Ronald,” 

“Oh don’t, when you call me that you sound like my Mum. And like Hermione. Total turn off.”

“Good,” Draco wriggled again, elbowing Ron lightly in the ribs, “We’re not having sex, you’re showering, and we’re leaving.” Ron grumbled, burying himself in the crook of Draco’s neck. 

“I don’t wanna go yet, there’s so many things I haven’t done.”

“Really? What’s left? I’m sore everywhere.”  
Ron laughed, the vibrations of it warming Draco’s gut. He was getting distracted. Using every bit of strength in his lanky frame, he pulled himself from Ron’s arms. He turned, pulling his shirt to get rid of of any wrinkles. Draco was in black trousers and a sharp white shirt, his hair combed and gelled into it’s usual sleek state.  
Ron on the other hand, was shirtless in pyjama bottoms, his hair a mop. Draco pulled himself up off the bed, moving across the apartment to stack his luggage. Ron sighed, dramatically and loudly. 

“I don’t want to go home, I’ll miss Paris, and I’ll miss you speaking French-“

“I can do that at home,” 

“It’s not the sameeee” Ron whined, flopping himself down the bed. Draco snorted, taking his toiletries from the bedside drawer. 

“Ron you’re being ridiculous,”

“It’s not my fault I’m not up for Ginny and Harry’s probing questions, I have a theory the only reason Hermione doesn’t ask is because she reads gay FanFiction.”

Draco laughed, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. He leant against the door frame, staring at Ron. Ron opened one eye, looking back at his husband. 

“Mr Weasley,” said Draco, smiling just barely. 

“Mr Weasley,” whispered Ron, a grin spreading across his face. 

“I’m still your husband, that doesn’t disappear because we go back home.” 

Ron smiled, folding his arms around his stomach, staring at his husband.  
“You’re my husband.” 

“I am.” 

“I love you.” 

“I know.” 

Ron laughed, rolling himself over so he was face down. Draco shook his head, slipping out of the bedroom. 

Ron took ages to get ready, because he napped at every interval. But eventually they were ready to leave. Ron had been peeved that they couldn’t just apperate out of the room. 

But Draco made them check out the muggle way so that he could speak French and watch Ron fiddle with his trousers in his peripheral vision.  
Ron tried to get them to go back to their house, but Draco wanted to surprise Ron’s family. His family, he smiled. They walked up the drive, Ron’s arm slung over Draco’s shoulder. Ron was sweet talking, and dragging his feet slightly in an attempt to get Draco to turn around. By the time they got to the door, Draco shoved Ron lightly, laughing him off and ignoring the fact he was half hard. 

Ron only got half way through his knock before Ginny swung the door open.  
“You’re home?” She half squealed, “RON AND DRACO ARE HOME.” The sound of a stampeded was something Draco was slowly getting used too. 

“You all really do show up for Sunday dinner,” Ron commented. 

“Of course we do, stupid.” George punched Ron’s arm, as they headed towards the living room. 

Ron dragging Draco along with him, plonked himself next to Hermione, who was next to Percy, and they were reading the same book. Hermione was a little ahead of Percy. Luna was lying on the floor, her blue dress spread out around her. Her hand was grasped around Hermione’s ankle. Harry was sitting in the love seat, his glasses a little crooked. He was casting small bursts of fireworks from his wand, and waved enthusiastically when Ron and Draco came in. 

Molly and Arthur came in to say quick “Hello’s” but she was busy making dinner, and she was making Arthur take care of any pots she was finished with. 

“Hey, you guys want something to drink?” George said merrily, already turning towards the bottle of fireworks on the side.  
Ron nodded, kissing the side of Draco’s head absent mindedly. Draco was distracted. He was looking at Ginny, who was blushing gently and leaning her head back onto Harry’s knee. Harry seemed none the wiser, the small fireworks shooting from his wand going from pink to green. Draco knew what was coming before it did, he took the glass of firewisky from George’s hand and sipped smugly. Ron pulled an eyebrow up at him. Draco just shook his head. George poured another glass, holding it out to his little sister. She gulped. 

“Can’t,” she said, and her voice shook just barely, “You’re not supposed to drink when you’re pregnant.” 

There was a static pause in the room, and Draco almost laughed out loud. Luna seemed just as underwhelmed as he was, she was making triangle shapes with her fingers and staring at the ceiling. She hadn’t let go of Hermione’s ankle. Percy looked up from his book slowly, George settled the bottle down, and then himself. Bill and Charlie’s heads peered round the door. Every red-head in the room looked slightly puzzled. Hermione looked delighted, and Harry seemed to be Odin a state of shock. Draco broke the silence first. 

“I knew it,” But he was drowned out by Hermione beginning to chatter excitedly, Percy congratulating them like work colleagues, Molly rushing in to see what the fuss was about, Bill and Charlie falling over each other in an attempt to get into the room, George scoffing and Harry tearing up. 

“You’re serious Gin?” He half said, half shouted, over the noise. 

“As if I’d be kidding you idiot.” Harry laughed and pulled her up into a slightly unnaturally gentle hug. She smiled, tears pooling in her eyes. Ron hadn’t moved. Draco looked up and nudged him slightly, but he still didn’t move. 

“Ronnie? What’s up?” He nudged Ron again. 

“I’m an uncle?” Ron barely said.

“You have about fifty siblings Ron, and you have Bill and Flyers french kids, though they are a little snobby, but so is Percy’s little girl, what’s her name again? It was bound to happen again at some po-“  
Ron hugged him, crushing his rib cage in the embrace. Draco squeezed out a laugh, wrapping his hands into each other behind Ron’s neck. 

“You’re adorable, I’m happy for you.” 

“Us.”

“Huh?” Draco pulled back so he could look at Ron in the eye.

“Us, you’re an uncle too.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose I am. I mean, wow. Yes.” Ron smiled at him, pulling him back into a hug.

“You should probably go and hug your sister,” whispered Draco.  
Ron laughed, pulling away and turning to Ginny and Harry, who were still wrapped up in one another. The Weasley gathered around, taking turns to hug Ginny and Harry, and Draco Hermione and Luna, quietly took their leave. Slipping into the kitchen that was packed with delicious scents. Draco smiled, and Hermione hugged him. They stood for a moment, and Draco let himself lean into her, smiling into her shoulder.  
“You must be happy huh?” Draco said once they’d pulled away. 

“Yes!” Said Hermione, a light sheen of tears on her eyes. “Aren’t you?” 

“Of course, I’m just not incredible at family and emotions and- Luna, my dear, don’t stand on the chair.”

“It’s closer to the pamtells,” she said, like this offered any logical explanation. She lowered her coloured glasses, and smiled at Draco. 

“You want one.” Draco raised his eyebrows. 

“One of what?” 

“A baby, you’re sad because you can’t.”

Draco only took a second of a pause to snap back, he was very good at come backs after all.  
“Since when did you become a mind reader Luna?” 

“Whose reading minds?” Said a tearful Molly, bustling back into the kitchen.

“No-one, no-one,” said Hermione, taking Luna’s hand and helping her down from the chair she’d climbed up onto. 

Draco sniffed indignantly, pushing a hand through his hair.  
She was right of course, it wasn’t that he wasn’t insanely happy for Harry and Ginny, he was. And the idea of being an Uncle was great. But he really did want his own child, and it hurt to think that would never be a real possibility. Draco did his best to squash the on coming dread, but it was rising a little too quickly. It felt like a dark dust, sweeping up inside him. Tears teased at the back of his eyes. Things had calmed a little in the living room, so Hermione and Luna decided to head back and congratulate the happy couple. Draco didn’t, he needed some time. He headed upstairs. 

Ron had just managed to gain some control over the tears spilling down his face. He sat back on the sofa, and extended an arm to wrap it around his husband, only to find the space empty. He looked up, to Hermione and Luna heading back into the room. Draco didn’t follow them.  
Luna crossed the room, she was completely barefoot, which Ron noted with slight disgust. Hermione beat her too it, wrapping Harry up in a deep hug first. They were chatting to each other while they hugged, and then at once they turned arms open to Ron. Ron grinned, jumping into the hug. He was taller than them both, and kissed Hermione on the head, then Harry. 

“I’m trying my best to not think about you and my baby sister having sex,” laughed Ron.

“As am I,” agreed Hermione, giggling.

“Well I’m trying to not think about you having sex with my childhood bully, you literally just got back from your honeymoon, you’re so gross.”

They all laughed, Hermione wriggling one arm out of the hug to wipe her face.  
“We’re all grown up,” she laughed tearily.

“You’ve been forty since you were like, eleven, ‘Mione.” Ron said, which made Harry nod and snigger. 

“Shut up, Ronald. I’m serious. Harry’s having a kid, you’re married, I’m sort of kind of engaged.”

“You what-“ Ron started, jumping up into the air a little. 

“Shhhh! We’re not telling anyone yet!”

“Wait,” said Harry, poking her in the ribs, “You and Luna?” He whispered. 

“Duh,” she said, poking him back. Ron poked them both. 

“Mad,” he said, “absolutely mad,” he grinned letting it spread across his face completely. Hermione turned her head just slightly to the door, bur evidently whoever she was looking for wasn’t there. 

Ron did the same, he surveyed the room. It was full of his siblings crying and hugging each other, but it might as well of been empty. 

“Where’s Draco?” He said quietly, sobering up. 

“I don’t know, he got sort of closed off, I think he took off.”

“He wouldn’t do that, he’s happy for Gin. Right?”

“Yeah,” said Hermione, but she didn’t look sure. 

“Go find him,” said Harry, shoving Ron from the hug, “Go get your Loverboy,” 

“Gross man, seriously.” Said Ron as he dipped out of the room and up the stairs, he checked all the rooms, one of which contained a napping Angela, but Draco wasn’t there. He got all the way up to the third floor, the last door in the corridor (his own room) and wondered why he hadn’t thought to check here first. Draco was inside of course, looking foreign and yet so familiar in Ron’s childhood bedroom. 

“You should be with you sister,” said Draco, without looking up. He was using the tip of his wand to create detailed snowflakes and watching them fall into his palm, and then melt. 

“Eh, she’s not gonna be alone for the next nine months, the least she can ask for is some space from her least favourite brother.”

Draco laughed at this, the sound just barely escaping him before he shut it away again. 

“What’s up Dray?” Said Ron, shutting the door behind him and sliding onto Harry’s bed. 

Draco looked like he was about to get defensive, then caught sight of his hand in his side vision. The Weasley Family ring sat perfectly on his finger, simple and yet expensive in more ways than one. He sighed. Turning to look at Ron, finally, their eyes met and his demeanour softened. 

“I’- I’m really happy for Ginny and Harry. Honestly, I am. And I didn’t ever think something like this would get at me, I-“ Draco paused, his gaze dropping from Ron’s.  
“I didn’t think I wanted kids. I was so scared that I’d turn into the jerk my Father was. But things have changed. And I do. Want kids. But I can’t. We can’t. And, I suppose, that realisation stings more than I thought it would.” 

“Dray,” Ron had shifted across the bed, and was standing next to Draco, now. He put a finger under his chin, pressing a gentle kiss to his nose. 

“I know it hurts. But if- when we adopt. That kid will be as much ours as Ginny’s and Harry’s is theirs. A Weasley, a true Weasley. We could eve find a kid with strawberry blonde hair if it’d help you fell better.” Draco punched his arm, “Okay, okay, a brunette, I didn’t know you had such strong feelings on this.”  
Draco smiled, and then he laughed, a real laugh, and dragged Ron down onto the bed with him. They lay face to face, and Draco kissed Ron softly. Ron smiled into the kiss, leaning up and over Draco so he could place a hand on either said of his head and bury himself into the kiss. They came up for air, cheeks heated, and panting. Footsteps came stumbling towards the room and the distinct sound of George Weasley whistling made them both look up.  
“Am I interrupting something?”

“What does it look like?” Asked Ron, huffing and staring to roll off of Draco. Draco grabbed his neck to stop him. 

“No,” he smirked,” Don’t worry George, we stop for no man,” Then he pulled Ron down into a heated kiss, and George fake gagged.

“Gross, stop it, you’ve made your point,” he covered his eyes, “Dinner’s ready you animals.” 

When they got downstairs, only half the table was seated. Bill, Charlie, and Percy were apparently still being collected. Harry was being totally over conscious of Ginny. Ginny was getting pissed at him. Luna and Hermione were obviously talking in some sort of facial expression code. Draco sat next to luna, and Ron sat opposite him. 

“Had to pull these two away from each other,” George huffed dramatically as he sat down next to Harry, “Nightmare.” 

Harry pressed a hand to his forehead, rubbing slightly. Everyone at the table, tensed just a little. 

Harry looked up, “Relax guys, it’s a big ol’ scar, on the middle of my face, sometimes it hurts, I know the difference.” There was a slight relax. 

“It stings sometimes?” Said Draco inquisitively, Harry nodded nonchalantly.

“I’d know if it was, well you know.” 

“Mine stings sometimes too,” he said, rubbing a palm over his forearm, “But I’d know. I’d know.” They nodded at each other in a strange sort of solidarity for a moment. 

“What was it like?” Luna asked airily. Ron and Hermione gave her sharp warning looks that she either misinterpreted or ignored. Draco’s eyebrows raised. 

“Hm?”

“What was he like? Voldemort?” A shudder went through Ron at the name. Draco smiled, but there was no humour in it. 

“We called him The Dark Lord.” He paused, seemingly lost in a memory, “I wouldn’t of wished it on anyone. Not even Harry, at the time.” Harry looked up, surprised at this, and Draco shrugged, grabbing and buttering himself a bread roll as the last three Weasley boys came through separate doors to the kitchen. 

Molly served dinner and it was perfect, as always. When the family had finished asking Ginny how far along she was (2 months) when she’d found out (three weeks ago) and Harry how he felt about everything, they turned on Ron and Draco. It happened slowly. The conversation died down a little, all that could be heard was the clinking of cutlery and the obnoxious chewing that belonged to either Charlie or Ron, until George spoke up.  
“So,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, “How was the honeymoon Ronniekins?” Ron chocked slightly on his food, and Harry thumped his back. Draco smirked. He put a hand on his chest dramatically, “Ron took me to Paris,” he said, layering on the dreamy tone. 

Hermione swooned, “Paris! Ron that’s so romantic, I didn’t think you had it in you.” 

“Hey-“ Ron objected, but he was interrupted by Percy. 

“Draco, don’t you speak French?” 

“ I do indeed,” smirked Draco, watching the blood flare up to Ron’s ears. George began to chuckle, leaning back in his seat. 

“Fun fact, on our second day Ron started rolling over some teenage waiter,” Harry laughed at this, and so did George, even Hermione couldn’t help herself. Ron looked indignant. 

“Me? You’re the one that flirted with him in french for twenty minutes, for all I know you’ve got some French side piece,” Draco bang to cackle, leaning back in his chair.  
As the table playfully squabbled back and forth, a small pecking came from the kitchen window. Everyone ignored it at first, but it got more insistent. When Draco looked up, a small, official looked owl was staring right at him. The envelope in it’s beak was black parchment and silver ink. And even from across the room, the sight of his Father’s handwriting still sent his heart plummeting. Things slowed into a painful slow motion as Draco stood, the room still laughing around him. 

“Whose it for?” Asked Arthur, 

“Me.” Said Draco simply, opening the window and letting the bird hop in. The room slowly began to quiet out of curiosity. The bird handed him the envelope, then looked up at him expectantly. 

“I’m not going to feed you, you beast. Go back to the hell you came from.” The bird ruffled it’s feathers, insulted, and flew swiftly out the window.  
Draco leant against the side, opening the letter. 

“Dear Draco Lucius Malfoy,  
Or is it Weasley now? I suppose you disposed of our family name, much like you’ve disposed of your dignity. I heard of your engagement, though I’m sure by the time this letters gotten through it’s many security checks, you’ll be married. I do not have much to say to you Draco, you know how low you’ve gone. I do not feel the need to spell out my disgust and disappointment. I merely hope you have the decency to change your last name, so not to besmirch the family. You should be ashamed, this is the first, and the last time you’ll be hearing from me before my (surely untimely) death. Goodbye.  
Sincerely, Lucius Malfoy.” 

Draco read it through. Then again. He didn’t cry. In fact, he hardly felt anything at all. 

“What’s it about?” Asked Ginny, at the same time Ron said, 

“Whose it from?” Draco read over the words again.  
Not really reading them. He calmly folded the letter up, and placed it into it’s envelope. He walked towards the empty fireplace, flicked the card up into the air, and with a near silent, “Inferno,” set it ablaze. 

The room fell silent. Draco watched it burn. 

“Nothing of importance,” he assumed, tucking his wand away and wiping his palms, “Nothing of importance at all. Junk mail, as the muggles say.” 

It had been a struggle for conversation to pick back up after that, but they were Weasleys so they managed. Every once in a while, someone would flick Draco a curious look, but he ignored them, enveloping himself in the chatter. 

The apperation back to his and Ron’s home, and the silent walk inside, told Ron a lot more than any words would’ve done. 

“Dray,” Ron said, as softly as he could when the door closed behind them, “It was from your Dad right?” 

Draco paused on the staircase, gripping the banister with white knuckles. He took a deep breath, through his nose, and turned. 

“That man is many things. My Father is not one of them.” 

“Dray,” 

“Ron,” replied Draco, eyes stony, “I need some time alone.” 

And with that he was gone, up the stairs and out of sight. Ron sighed. He took of his coat and kicked off his shoes. Heading to the kitchen, he opened the fridge, running a hand through his hair. It was pretty empty, they hadn’t wanted things to rot while they were away. Ron riffled through the cupboards before he found a bag of marshmallows. Not Draco’s favourite, but they would do.  
He knew hot chocolate was one of Draco’s guilty pleasures, but it had to be made properly. Melted chocolate and a little bit of sugar, with the perfect mix of milk.

(AN: Sorry if that’s not how it’s done, i literally hate hot chocolate so I’m trying)

The saucepan swayed a little under Ron’s spell, but made it to the stove without much stress. As did the other ingredients. He could continue with magic, but it felt better o do this with his hands. As he stirred, he thought. The letter had to of been from Draco’s Father, who else? Ron could only imagine what it’d said, he had to have heard about the marriage, if not the engagement. 

“Shit,” Ron whispered, turning up the heat a little. The slight pain that hadn’t wavered from the back of Draco’s eyes through the whole of dinner had been telling, and so had the fact he’d refused to hold eye contact or conversation with Ron. 

Pouring gently into two glasses he’d laid out on the side and reaching for the milk, Ron sighed. He didn’t often consider how lucky he was to have an entire supportive family and awesome friends. 8/9ths of a family, he reminded himself with a sad smile. He often wondered what Fred would think to his unusual life, and the way it had unfolded.  
He was careful carrying the drinks up the stairs, the last thing he wanted was to spill anything. 

He paused at the door, he hadn’t considered how he was going to knock, then turned and bumped the door with his elbow twice, as harshly as his fragile cargo would allow. At first there was no answer, but Ron knew Draco better than that. He wanted a little longer watching the steam pool off of the drinks. The handle turned, and half a place face appeared, one grey eye staring out curiously as if some stranger was stood their. Draco looked as if he’d been crying, just a little. 

“Hot coco?” Ron said, just to annoy Draco, he knew Draco hated when he said it like that. Draco smirked. 

“Weasel,” he said, pulling the door open some more so his whole face was visible. Their room was tidy behind him, Ron observed, the bed sheets pulled tight into their corners. Stress cleaning. 

“Yours has peppermint on it, cause it’s almost Christmas-“

“Christmas is over a month away you baboon,”

“You’re right, the author of this story has already written two, maybe even three Christmas chapters over two parts, and should probably get a grip,” 

Draco giggled, taking the hot chocolate from Ron’s hand and moving into the room, where he sat at the foot of their bed. Their dog was curled up on an old towel, in the corner off the room, and Draco’s cat was curled on the pillows atop the bed. 

“You spoil that thing,” said Ron as he sat, taking a marshmallow into his mouth with his tongue. Draco swatted him gently with his free hand, shushing as if scorpios the cat could hear them. 

Ron let the silence float in the air for a little while. He toyed with the idea of bringing up the letter.  
“How does it feel to be married?” Ron Asked, his voice quieter than he’d thought it would be. It took a few moments, but Draco melted like ice. He turned to Ron, the corners of his mouth titled upwards just barely. 

“Hm, it’s alright,” Draco replied, sipping absentmindedly at his drink. 

“Just alright?” Ron frowned, leaning in closer to Draco. Draco smirked.

“Yeah I mean, my husband hasn’t fucked my brains out on our own bed yet, so that’s a bummer.” 

That night, laying half asleep with Draco wrapped around him, Ron decided something. Him and Draco were going to have a baby.


End file.
